


what dreams may come

by that_this_will_do



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is a fallen angel, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Establish Relationship, George is the future savior of humanity, M/M, Sharing a Bed, of sorts, they're approximately in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22748104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_this_will_do/pseuds/that_this_will_do
Summary: The night is quiet, and cold, when the man returns home. There’s wind in the trees, disturbing the branches just slightly in the dark. The concrete stairs leading to his door have chilled in the open air. The doors in both the living room and the hallway creak as he passes through them. Lights flick on.“Hello, angel.”
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	what dreams may come

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post: https://queerfandommiscellany.tumblr.com/post/190798216733/prokopetz-honestly-if-you-see-an-angel-thats
> 
> and many thanks to @icarusandtheson for listening to my ideas and reading my drafts :)
> 
> title is a reference to the scottish play

The night is quiet, and cold, when the man returns home. There’s wind in the trees, disturbing the branches just slightly in the dark. The concrete stairs leading to his door have chilled in the open air. The doors in both the living room and the hallway creak as he passes through them. Lights flick on.

“Hello, angel.”

As ever, George’s voice is soft. It echoes in the seeming emptiness of the apartment, and how he’s even able to tell Alex is there is a mystery Alex isn’t sure he wants to solve. He shivers, lets his form solidify and appear, in the middle of George’s bed where he’s been sitting for the past… while. He lost track.

“Not an angel,” he replies. If he had vocal cords, real ones, one could say he was whispering. But it was more like his tapping on George’s eardrums was gentler than usual. His words don’t have shape, or form. Nothing he says disrupts the air a way a soundwave does. It’s just vibrating the interior membranes of whoever he’s talking to. He doesn’t even have to move his lips. 

It took ages to learn to talk this way, the way an earthly thing could understand. Almost the full lifespan of the English language; there were new words each time he thought he was getting somewhere. But he doesn’t have to think about it so much now.

George sits on the edge of the bed and removes his shoes. He’s wearing a suit, must have just come from work, ever though it’s later than those things usually go. Alex watches him. He looks good, Alex supposes. Supposes a human would say that George looks good, in his dark blue suit, that it fits well. George always looks good to him, but that’s because he can _see_ him. The light that George carries, that clings to his skin the way starlight does to the night sky. The only thing the suit does to that is obscure it.

Once, Alex told George that he looks best when he’s naked. George started laughing, and it took Alex forever to figure out why. He even blushed, when he caught on. He hadn’t really known he could do that. George didn’t actually say anything to the statement--Alex figured out later it’s because he doesn’t think his body is beautiful, and Alex is still trying to correct him--but he did look at him the rest of the evening with a sort of amused expression on his face.

The same expression George is aiming at him now. Alex realizes he’s been staring at him, unblinking, as he undresses. George has told him before it looks weird. Alex blinks deliberately, then once every two second to get his rhythm started again. George huffs an almost-laugh and stands, tossing his clothes in the laundry basket.

“You don’t have to pretend for my sake,” George reminds him. Alex hums, approximately. He’s gotten better at it since he met George, apparently it used to tickle. George’s lips twist up into a smile.

“I like it,” he says, fiddling with his fingers. They’re tan, with short clipped fingernails, and more length between his first and second knuckles that average. If anyone were to ask, he wouldn’t be able to explain why he looks this way, like a boy who washed up with the tide and never cut his hair. It’s just...the way he looks, when he takes shape. But George is the only one who would ask, and he hasn’t. Maybe humans don’t think about those sorts of things. 

George turns back to him wearing a tank top and a pair of boxers, which he asked one time if Alex found “appropriately revealing.” Now, Alex grins, and George grins back. 

“I’m glad,” George hums, and it takes Alex a moment to realize he’s responding to Alex’s mumbled half-thought. Alex doesn’t say anything, as George sits on the bed next to him, and reaches a hand out to stroke his face.

George’s skin is warm, as always. And Alex jumps a little when George touches him, as always. The first time it happened, he was so shocked he flew four feet backwards.

George is the only human he’s met who can actually touch him. Everyone just passes straight through. Heavenly light can’t interrupt earthly light--it’s why Alex doesn’t have a shadow. But when George touches him, he feels solid beneath his hands. His skin moves, shifts as George drags his thumb along his collar bone, his muscles tense and relax.

“You’re cold as ice,” George murmurs.

“Demon,” Alex reminds him. He doesn’t have blood, or a heart to pump it around his body. But he can feel himself warming under George’s palms, like this man can bend the laws of heaven and earth and bring him under the principle of heat flow’s gentle rule.

“Angel,” George says. Alex rolls his eyes.

“You’re overdressed,” he says.

Alex looks down, at the t-shirt and hoodie and jeans he’s wearing. No shoes, because he doesn’t like them and doesn’t need them. He looks back up at George’s smiling face.

“Wait here,” George says, and slides off the bed. He returns with a t-shirt and reaches for Alex again. Alex lets George move him around, reveling in the physicality of it, of being touched, and tries to keep up with having a body for George to undress. It seems to come naturally, like he really does have a body. Although from George’s huff, he thinks his shirt evaporated once it cleared his arms. 

George tells him to lift his arms, and slides a too-big t-shirt over his head. It _feels_ like George. All swathed in light like George. Alex sings, a harmonic little triplet that makes George grin. He climbs into bed and pulls the covers back, waiting for Alex to slide under. These too drape over his frame like he’s solid. Everything in the apartment does, like George’s home has room and flexibilities just for him. Like he belongs here. 

They lie facing each other, quiet for a moment until Alex asks, “Can I have a kiss?”

He never asks until after George has touched him. He greatest fear is that one day he’ll lean in and George will pass right through him. Well, second greatest fear.

George whispers _of course_ and pulls him in, all warm soft lips and heavy reassuring weight. They make out for awhile, lazily. Alex reaches out and flicks off the lights with a thought, running through all the doors to make sure the locks are secured, the apartment is safe. He can feel George’s smile against his lips. 

Alex doesn’t do it to be cute. His first greatest fear is that something will happen to George, something will hurt him. And he can’t let that happen. He never understood the guardian angel thing some did until now. 

George deepens the kiss, like he can tell Alex is worrying. Maybe he can. They roll over, underneath the blankets. Eventually, they break apart and George shifts against the pillows to get comfortable. When he’s settled, he pulls Alex into him, and Alex lets himself be tucked into George’s chest. He’s long since stopped trying to change his form to be less bony, stopped questioning that George somehow wants to see him, to have him, exactly as he is. 

Alex closes his eyes as he listens to George’s heartbeat even out and slow down. Angels, demons, don’t really sleep. But he thinks he’s learned how--thinks, brain already fuzzing and fading. He’ll come back to awareness in a few hours, call it sleeping. Vaguely, he thinks tomorrow is a weekend. Or some other non-work occasion. He and George can make breakfast. Or have sex, if that the right name for the extra-closeness thing he and George have figured out. 

“Rest, little angel,” George rumbles, and Alex sighs, and drifts off. To sleep, perhaps, to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @that-this-will-do if you want to say hi


End file.
